


Honest Psychos Don't Need Healing

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Gen, Imprisonment, Introspection, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: I’ve followed my instinct, like the worst of animals.I’ve followed her eyes, her body, her lips, which led me on this rough, lonely road.I’ve followed the wife I was so proud I had, the same I can hear screaming now.





	Honest Psychos Don't Need Healing

How many times have I already seen the Moon stained by the black of the bars?

Too many, or perhaps too few since I can still understand it’s the dear, old Moon, the same that used to accompany us on every mission, the same that has given us a nice background for our horror theatre.

I feel a certain pleasure in seeing it.

As if it was a sign of a life that flows, as if it wanted to make me see that not all is lost, that there can be light even in this damned place, where darkness has a duty to swallow everything that’s still capable of cheering up the shady souls that here reside.

I lean over the wall, ice cold, damp, filthy.

I know how I ended up here, even though I’d love to ignore it.

I’ve followed my instinct, like the worst of animals.

I’ve followed her eyes, her body, her lips, which led me on this rough, lonely road.

I’ve followed the wife I was so proud I had, the same I can hear screaming now.

She screams, she shouts.

She says we’re just cowards, that we’ve always been.

She’s the only one, after all, who can be worthy of her Lord.

And he has always played with this certainty, with this will to prevail, up to the point of taking her away from me and from any form of mental sanity.

And I... bystander of that decay, of a woman ceasing being a woman, and of myself stopping to try and keep her by my side.

All because of him, I would’ve said before, and yet a thought grows in me, that the fault it’s just mine, and of whom life me has decided to follow his suicidal plans.

 

_“Tell me, Rodolphus. What seems to be the issue?” I bite my lip, I already know I’d regret the sensation he arises in me, with that bloody sarcastic grin, those eyes still trying to feign an innocence they’ve never known._

_He notices, and it doesn’t do other than make his smile larger._

_“My Lord, is Bellatrix. Yesterday, during recognition, she’s killed a few Muggles, risking of exposing us. I think it’d be better, for a while, if she stayed her and didn’t...” the Dark Lord raises his hand, gesturing me to shut up._

_“Bella is going to do what I ask of her, as every one of you. It’s just that, so it would seems, unlike you she doesn’t hesitate to off a few Mudbloods, from time to time.”_ Bella _. The way he pronounces her nickname makes me shiver, but once again I try to keep my cool._

_After all, I’m a coward like all the others, and I care too much about my life to see it torn away from me for something as senseless as love._

_“And then, Rodolphus.” he goes on. “I don’t reckon you’re here to think, are you?” he smirks, vicious as he loves to be. I sigh and lower my head, sign of a respect I could never actually feel for him._

_“You’re right, My Lord.” I murmur between my teeth, feeling the little pride I still had parting from me, being swallowed by his cynicism, by his lack of interest for anyone around him._

I was trapped, like a rat. I could move only into the cage of his dominion, doing just what he wanted me to.

My entire existence had become a continuous imprisonment.

A prison I had created on my own.

It was a battle lost, and we both knew that. I shielded myself behind my aristocracy to pretend I was worth something, and he amused himself breaking that shield over and over again, humiliating me, making me feel like the mud I was.

And I keep being.

The endless screams of the woman that was once mine, carry on Voldemort’s endeavour.

They make her alive, they make her part of this place, of the death that reigns here, of a destiny that for us will remain unchanged.

My Bella is passionate, she’s always been, and yet she’s given in the coldness and brutality of her Lord, to the point of bending her nature, so that she didn’t have to bear the cowardice of a husband she had never wanted, she had never loved.

Lord Voldemort took our dignity, took away from us the chance to run, to escape that horrific world, to make decisions that could actually be ours.

He stole what made me human, and I didn’t have the strength to fight to hold on to my existence. I let myself go, I let Bella go, because sometimes not choosing is the easiest way, but it’s also the one with the highest price.

Now I stay here, looking at the face of the Moon, the only testimony to the fact that there’s still a world outside this prison’s walls.

It doesn’t change a thing, not for me.

I was in a prison before, I’m in a prison now.

My mind is fated to remain in chains, and I’ve got no weapons to fight for it.

Just the vain hope that one day, outside and far from here, I can forget I have a past.

And still I’m deluded because, as faded as the features may be, the Mark is still burnt on my skin. And it looks at me.

Lord Voldemort is invasive.

Death couldn’t even break his control over us.

I’ll go mad myself to this thought, proof that he’s worse than any Dementor crowding the sky over Azkaban.

I close my eyes.

I let madness get inside of me, surrounding me in a gentle and deadly embrace.

Melt these chains.

Erode my cowardice.

When one’s not a human being anymore, madness is a nice choice.

I close myself up into the darkness of that long and eternal night, hoping I’ll never have to surface ro rationality anymore.  


End file.
